


say something, darling

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Lean On Me [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton's low self esteem, Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, ameriwinterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: “I can tell him to go away.” Bucky’s teeth scrape over his ear again, and Clint shivers. “Or I can tell him to come in. Your choice. But I can tell you for sure that he’s interested, and so am I.”Clint’s fingers tighten on Bucky’s arm as every fantasy he’s had in the last few months comes to life, flipping through his mind like the world’s most inappropriate movie reel. Bucky and Steve. Both of them. Together. With him.Holy shit.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Series: Lean On Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855009
Comments: 29
Kudos: 285





	say something, darling

**Author's Note:**

> ~~thanks to hawksonfire, who came up with the "i'm pretty sure I can get my hand in the front" line. This is for you <3~~
> 
> brought to my attention it was actually greyishbobbi who said that, sorry! <3 (but lowkey this is still a present for arson :D)

It becomes a _thing_ , after that.

To be fair, it kind of already was a thing. He’s been enduring (okay, secretly enjoying) the random snuggles for months at this point, so this really shouldn’t be any different.

But it is, somehow. Because now, every single time he falls asleep in the tower, he wakes up next to Bucky. Sometimes other people, too, to be fair. But the one constant is Bucky. Even in his own room—even when he’s pretty sure he _locked the damn door_ —he still inevitably wakes up in Bucky’s arms.

Not that he’s complaining. Not even a tiny bit. He doesn’t really get it, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it, but he’s been sleeping better in the past months than he has in years. And at this point in his life, being snuggled by a super soldier ex-assassin isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him.

So he just lets it happen. He doesn’t push for anything else, either, although he does find himself wondering sometimes what it would be like to kiss Bucky. Which is stupid, really, because whenever Bucky’s not curled around Clint, he’s with Steve. They’re—well, boyfriends isn’t really the right word for it. They’re something deeper than that. Clint doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if he ever did...it would be those two.

He doesn’t want to get in the middle of that. Or rather, he _does_ , desperately—but he’s not going to bring it up. It’s too awkward to ever say out loud, anyway. Clint is pretty sure he’d die of embarrassment before he ever got the words out. So he just takes what he’s given and shoves all his secret fantasies in a box where they belong.

Except he must let something slip. Must look a little too long one day, or makes a suggestion that can’t be brushed off as a joke. Because one afternoon he wakes up on the couch, curled up around Bucky—he’d fallen asleep that way, when did _that_ start happening?—and Bucky says, “Afternoon, sweetheart.”

Clint blinks a little at the term, but says, “Hey,” back in a sleep-rough voice.

Bucky smiles and rubs his shoulder, then says, “Do you wanna have sex sometime?”

Clint doesn’t _mean_ to fall off the couch, but the words hit him like a two-by-four, and he tumbles to the ground in a pile of shocked limbs. “Huh?” he manages, staring up at Bucky. “I...what?”

Bucky snickers and leans over the couch. “I asked if you wanted to have sex,” he says.

“I...” Clint adjusts his hearing aids. They’re broken. They’ve gotta be broken. There’s no _way_ he heard that correctly. “ _What?_ ”

“Do you want to have sex?” Bucky says, a little slower.

“With you?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Well, yeah,” he says. “I mean, I wouldn’t be asking on Thor’s behalf or anything. That’s just awkward.”

Clint adjusts his aids again, then stares at Bucky like he’s never seen the guy before. “I...”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Bucky says. “But I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. I was assuming you’d get the hint that I was interested, between all the cuddling and everything.”

“I thought that was a joke,” Clint says faintly. “I thought—”

Bucky starts laughing. Full-body laughing, shaking, the whole nine-yards. He laughs like this is the funniest damn thing he’s ever heard in his entire life. “Clint,” he finally manages. “I like you and all, but you’re the densest person I’ve ever met in my _life_.”

“Huh?”

Bucky wipes tears from his eyes. “Look. Nat was right, okay? You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. You sleep like shit on your own, so yeah, we’ve all been taking turns because we care about you and want you to rest.”

“But I—”

“But _I’ve_ been doing it more the last few weeks,” he says, “because I’m interested in you. I think you’re funny, and fascinating, and absolutely gorgeous, and I want to know what you look like when I’m making you scream my name.”

The words are like a jolt right to his spine, something inside him uncurling, going loose at the sound of Bucky’s voice. “Uh-huh,” he says weakly. “I, uh. Yeah. Okay.”

“That a yes, sweetheart?”

Clint nods.

“Say it. I want to hear it.” Bucky locks eyes with him, slips a little command into his voice.

“Yes,” Clint says, barely able to breathe. “I—yes, Bucky.”

“Good,” Bucky says. He stands up. “Come on, then.”

“Wait—right now?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Did you want to wait?”

Clint scrambles to his feet, trips over himself, and falls face-first on the couch. Bucky laughs and pulls him up, keeping a firm grip on his arm. “I’ll take that as a no,” he says, and pulls Clint towards the bedroom. “Come on. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

* * *

Clint has no idea how his life got to this point. Not a single clue how he went from being randomly snuggled by teammates, to being mostly snuggled by one ex-assassin, to fucking aforementioned ex-assassin on a regular basis.

Not that he’s complaining. Not at all. Bucky is amazing, and drop-dead gorgeous, and sometimes he looks at Clint like he hung the stars in the sky---which is something Clint doesn’t understand or deserve, but he likes it anyway. Loves it, in fact. It makes him feel useful. Makes him feel important.

Bucky is also a goddamn menace, though, with an apparent inability to keep his hands off of Clint for more than ten minutes at a time. "A fact which he’s currently demonstrating, with one arm firmly wrapped around Clint’s chest, and the other hand pressing two fingers deep into his ass.

Although, to be fair, Clint did kind of initiate this one. He knows _exactly_ what these pants do to Bucky, and he may or may not have been looking for it when he pulled them out of his dresser and put them on—sans underwear—before going into Bucky’s room and doing a couple yoga stretches right in front of him. It had taken all of five seconds in downward dog before Bucky had scrambled off the bed, dragged him upright, pushed two fingers in his mouth, and ordered, “Get them nice and wet for me, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” Clint mutters now, his knees going weak. Bucky wraps his arm more securely around Clint’s chest, holding him up, and he grabs at it for support. “Bucky—what—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Bucky murmurs, lips right by his ear. “I can.”

Clint shakes his head frantically. “No, no. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

Bucky chuckles and traces his tongue over the shell of Clint’s ear, gently biting at the lobe. “Okay. Just making sure.”

There’s a knock at the door, then, and Clint goes absolutely still in Bucky’s grip. “Uh—”

“It’s Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “Do you want him to come in?”

Clint’s brain goes blank. “What?”

“You’ve mentioned before,” Bucky says. “And I’ve seen how you look at him. At both of us.”

“Huh?”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “It’s pretty obvious, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

A couple neurons fire to life as Clint processes what he’s saying. “You mean—”

“I can tell him to go away.” Bucky’s teeth scrape over his ear again, and Clint shivers. “Or I can tell him to come in. Your choice. But I can tell you for sure that he’s interested, and so am I.”

Clint’s fingers tighten on Bucky’s arm as every fantasy he’s had in the last few months comes to life, flipping through his mind like the world’s most inappropriate movie reel. Bucky and Steve. Both of them. Together. With him.

Holy _shit_.

“He can come in,” he finally gets out. “I—he can come in.”

He can’t see Bucky’s answering smile, but he can feel it pressed against his neck. “Great,” he murmurs, then pitches his voice louder. “Yeah, Steve. Come on in.”

The door opens just enough for Steve to slip inside. He closes it behind himself, never taking his eyes off the scene in front of him. “Gentlemen,” he finally drawls, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What’s going on here, huh?”

Clint swallows. “We—I—”

“I’m getting Clint ready for me,” Bucky says, voice low and sultry. “Why?”

Steve crosses his arms, and Clint’s eyes are drawn to the too-tight sleeves, and how they’re stretched over his biceps. “Who said you could do that, Buck?”

“I did,” Bucky says, crooking his fingers slightly inside Clint. Clint makes the most embarrassing sound he’s ever made in his entire _life_ and grips his arm with both hands. Bucky just chuckles a little and does it again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, Stevie?”

Steve tilts his head, studying the scene, then says, “Those are sweatpants. I’m pretty sure I can get my hand in the front.”

Clint’s dead. He must be dead. There’s no other possible explanation for this at all. He’s dead, and this is heaven, except that doesn’t make sense either, because he’s pretty sure he deserves to be in hell.

“How about it, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, kissing Clint’s neck. “You want him involved?”

Clint grabs at his arm again and says, “Huh?”

Bucky chuckles. “Can Steve play too, or do you want just you and me? Or just you and him?” Clint turns his head to stare at Bucky, eyes wide. “We want you to be comfortable, sweetheart. Are you okay with both of us? Or would you rather one just watched?”

Clint looks at Steve for a moment, then nods, “Both.”

Steve’s eyes light up, but he doesn’t move. “Are you sure?” Bucky asks.

“God, yes,” Clint says. “I want—” He cuts off, feeling the usual flash of shame at the words. It doesn’t matter what he wants.

Steve walks over—saunters, really, all slow and steady, like he’s got all the time in the world. “What do you want?” he asks, stepping right up against Clint. “Hmm?”

“Uh—” Christ, he can’t think. It’s too much, with Bucky fingering him, and the way Steve is pressed against his body, all hard muscle and warm skin. He can’t _think_. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know,” Steve murmurs, tracing a single finger down Clint’s chest. “I think you know what you want, and you’re afraid to say it, because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“He’s right,” Bucky says. “You never ask.”

“I don’t—” Clint shakes his head, breathing picking up as Steve’s palm flattens on his chest, right over his thundering heart. “I don’t know—”

“Do you want me to touch you?” Steve asks. “Do you want me to get my hand around your cock and make you come?” He curls his fingers slightly, fingernails scraping over Clint’s chest. “Or do you want my mouth, maybe? Want me to get on my knees and suck you off?”

Captain America just said that to him. The untouchable, golden boy icon of the free world is offering to blow him, and _holy shit_ Clint has to be dead, he has to be. There are _two_ super-soldiers interested in him, and this doesn’t happen to people in real life. It just doesn’t.

“Hnngh,” he says, which isn’t really a word at all. Steve smiles and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I know it’s a lot,” Bucky says behind him, twisting his wrist a little. Clint jolts forward in his arms, but there’s nowhere for him to go. “But we need you to say it, sweetheart. Tell us what you want.”

“I want—” God, it shouldn’t be this hard to _say_. 

“My hand or my mouth?” Steve whispers, lips by his other ear.

“Mouth,” Clint forces out. “I want—I want your mouth—”

Steve’s lips curve into a dirty smile. “Where?”

Oh, that’s just _unfair_. Clint whines a little, hips pressing back into Bucky’s fingers, then says, “On my dick. Please, Steve.”

“Good boy,” Steve says, and gets on his knees.

It’s unfair, really, how good Steve is at this. Unfair mostly because between the two of them, Clint hits the edge embarrassingly quickly, and he doesn’t want this to be over. Not yet. “You gotta stop—” he starts, and Steve pulls back, lips swollen and wet.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and his voice sounds rougher, a raspier edge to it. Clint closes his eyes, fingers digging into Bucky’s arm.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps out. “I don’t—”

“But we want you to,” Bucky says in his ear, rubbing right over Clint’s prostate. “We want to make you come. We want you to feel good.”

Steve’s hand wraps around his dick, and Clint’s hips twitch at the contact. “It’s okay,” he assures Clint, leaning forward, dragging his tongue over the head.

“But I want more—” He winces, the words feeling wrong in his mouth. It doesn’t matter. This is just for fun. If they want him to come, then he should just do that. Store this as the one-time memory it is, and accept that it’ll never happen again.

Except Bucky chuckles in his ear, low and dirty, and thumbs over Clint’s nipple, pinching and rolling it through his shirt. “You can have more,” he says. “Gonna keep you in my bed all day if you’ll let me.”

“You can definitely have more,” Steve agrees, rubbing his thumb over Clint’s hipbone. “You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for this.”

“Wh—what?”

“We want you,” Bucky assures him. “Let us show you how much, sweetheart. Come for us.”

Clint’s helpless to do anything else. Steve takes him into his mouth again, and Bucky twists his fingers just right, and that’s it, Clint’s gone. He sags in Bucky’s arms, vision going fuzzy as he comes down Steve’s throat. “Oh god,” he gets out, shaking as Steve’s fingers tighten on his hips. “Oh, _fuck_.”

It’s several long, syrupy moments before he comes back to himself, muscles still trembling. Steve’s standing now, and kissing Bucky, which means Clint is pressed between two super-soldiers. He should feel trapped, he thinks hazily. But he doesn’t. He just feels _safe_.

He makes a soft noise, and Bucky and Steve break apart. “Back with us, sweetheart?” Bucky asks.

Clint nods and looks up at Steve. “Uh,” he says, blushing hard. He feels like he should say something, but he has no idea what. _Thank you for sucking my dick_ just seems like an awkward way to put it, and technically it was both of them that made him—

“You’re thinking too much,” Steve says.

“Can’t help it,” Clint mutters.

Bucky laughs softly. “We know,” he says. “Come on. Let’s take him to bed, Steve. See if we can’t get him out of his head a little.” He tugs Clint’s arm, and Steve nudges him, and together they all tumble their way into Bucky’s overly-large bed.

“Wanna get you naked,” Steve says, tugging on Clint’s shirt. “Can I?”

Clint nods and raises his arms, letting Steve pull his shirt off. Bucky makes an appreciative sound, sliding his hand along Clint’s torso. “God, you’re pretty,” he says, and Clint’s never been called that before in his life before Bucky, but he loves the way it makes him shiver.

“So pretty,” Steve agrees after a moment. His eyes are fixed on Clint, and his finger is tracing a line between all the freckles he can see. “Fucking gorgeous.”

He leans down and follows that same path with his tongue, and Clint shudders under his mouth. Bucky smirks, arranging himself so that Clint’s head is in his lap. Then he takes Clint’s wrists and pins them against his thighs, pressing them down with a firmness that Clint instantly likes.

He thinks again that he should feel vulnerable. He should feel exposed, half-naked while Steve’s tongue connects his freckles and Bucky smirks down at him like he wants to eat him alive. But he doesn’t feel that at all. He just feels warm, and safe, and secure.

Tears prick his eyes, and spill down his face. Bucky looks concerned, the smirk vanishing in a heartbeat, and Clint shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, sniffling a little. “I’m okay.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs.

“I’m okay,” Clint says again. “I just...you want me?”

“We want you,” Steve assures him. “We’ve wanted you for a long time.” He presses a kiss to Clint’s abs.

“Okay,” Clint says, and while he still doesn’t understand why, he’s going to just roll with it for the moment. This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him in his _life_ , and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Steve’s hand comes up to brush at the tears on his face. “Clint,” he says, sounding worried. “Are you—is this okay? Do you want us to stop?”

Clint shakes his head. He _definitely_ doesn’t want this to stop. “I’m okay,” he insists, glancing between them. “I just…”

_I just don’t know why you want me. Of all the people you could have. Of all the people you do have._

Bucky runs his hand through Clint’s hair, soft and easy. “Babe,” he murmurs. “Talk to us.”

Clint swallows hard. “Why me?” he finally asks. “I just...I don’t get it.”

“Because we like you,” Steve says. “Because you’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re talented as hell. What’s not to want?”

“But I—”

“Clint,” Bucky says. He looks down at Clint with those beautiful blue eyes, bright and sincere. “If we didn’t want you, we wouldn’t be doing this. It’s as simple as that.” 

“I don’t think anything’s that simple,” Clint mutters.

“It’s true, though,” Steve says. “I know you doubt yourself sometimes, Clint, but I promise it’s true. We’d never bring someone into our bed together if we didn’t both want him.” He brushes his thumb over Clint’s cheek again, the soft gesture almost enough to restart the tears. 

“You don’t have to believe us right now, babe,” Bucky says. “But if you’ll let us, we’d like to show you.” He gently pets Clint’s head again. “Is that okay?”

Clint swallows hard, then nods. 

“I need to hear it out loud,” Bucky says, eyes still on him. 

“Yes,” Clint says. “Yes. Please.”

Steve still looks a little unsure. “You’ll say something if you need to stop, right? I don’t want you pushing through this because you’re just trying to make us happy.”

“I’ll tell you,” Clint assures him. “I promise.”

Steve glances up at Bucky, who nods once. Then he tugs on the waistband of Clint’s sweatpants. “Okay. Can I take these off?”

In answer, Clint lifts his hips up, and Steve slides them down his legs, tossing them off to the side of the room. Above him, Bucky hums appreciatively and moves his hand down Clint’s arm, ghosting over his skin with a light enough touch to make Clint shiver.

“Sensitive,” Steve says with a smirk. “You like that all over?” He raises his hand slightly, fingertips millimeters from Clint’s skin, and skims over every inch he can reach. It’s like torture, this touching-not-touching, and Clint lasts a solid ten seconds before he whines and arches up to make contact.

Steve flicks his nipple, and Clint only barely cuts off his indignant little shriek. “Hold still.”

“Don’t torment him,” Bucky says mildly, but he’s smirking too, and Clint feels a thrum of anticipation rock through him.

“Why not?” Steve asks idly, skimming his hand over Clint’s chest again. “He makes such pretty sounds.”

Clint is breathing heavily with the effort of holding himself still. “Please touch me,” he finally says, eyes fixed on Steve’s hovering fingers. “Someone. Please?”

Bucky immediately obliges, flattening his hand on Clint’s chest, letting the heat of it settle into his skin. “There you go, doll. See what happens when you ask for what you want?”

“I—” He cuts off as Steve suddenly readjusts him, pushing his legs up towards his chest and tilting his hips up. “Okay. I _—fuck!_ ”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Problem?” he asks, his mouth barely inches from Clint’s skin.

“No,” Clint gasps. “No problem, none at all, holy shit.”

Steve grins, then scoots forward and licks right over Clint’s hole, slow and steady. Clint’s fingers clench into fists, and Bucky immediately presses his wrists down again. “Make some noise for us, doll,” he commands, and Clint whimpers. “You sound so good when you do that.”

It’s like torture, the way Steve is teasing him. The hot, wet slide of his tongue over sensitive skin, the way his hands are firmly pressed into Clint’s thighs, the way he occasionally looks up to see what reaction a particular move gets. Clint’s been rimmed before, but it was more of a cursory thing. A heat of the moment thing. But Steve looks like he _loves_ this, like he could stay between Clint’s legs all day and never make a protest.

Bucky presses Clint’s wrists into his thighs—a warning—and moves his hands down to Clint’s chest, thumbing over his nipples. The subtle sensation makes Clint gasp a little, arch into it. “Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s so good.”

“You like that?” Bucky asks, rolling them between his fingers.

“I like it,” Clint says, writhing as Steve does something _infernal_ with his tongue. “I—what the _fuck_ , Steve—”

“He’s good at that,” Bucky says. Casual, like this is a normal conversation, like Clint’s not going to pieces from nothing more than Steve’s tongue and Bucky’s fingers. “He’s good at a lot of things, but that’s one of my favorites.”

Steve chuckles, the vibrations adding a new level of amazing. “I try,” he says. “You should tell him about the one time I made you yell so loud—”

“Let’s not,” Bucky says immediately, and Clint wants to know more, but he also wants Steve to keep going, so he doesn’t ask. He just wriggles a little further down the bed, hoping that’ll get the point across.

Bucky laughs. “I think he wants more,” he says.

“All he has to do is ask for it,” Steve says, propping his chin on Clint’s hip and smiling sweetly at him. “I’m happy to give him anything he wants if he asks for it.”

“I am asking for it,” Clint shoots back.

“With your words, sweetheart.” Bucky taps a finger on Clint’s ribs. “Tell Steve exactly what you want him to do. Be _descriptive_.”

They’re being unfair, again. Bucky _knows_ how hard that is for Clint. He can barely bring himself to ask for things he needs, let alone things he wants. It’s a struggle at the best of times, but especially now, when he’s not even sure he knows his own name.

“You’re being mean,” he says to Bucky, and then immediately feels like a dick about it.

Bucky just picks up Clint’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I know it’s not easy,” he says, “but we need to hear it. We can’t read your mind.”

“I know,” Clint says. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Steve kisses the curve of his hip, softly scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. “You don’t have to be descriptive,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Bucky a little. “But it would help me to know. It’s important to me. I need to make sure you’re being taken care of too, and not just going with what we want.”

“What if we want the same things?” Clint asks, his breath hitching as Steve’s thumb rubs around his hole, just barely sliding in.

“That’s fine,” Bucky says. “But we still need to hear it from you.”

Clint closes his eyes for a moment, then nods. “I’m sorry,” he says, shame flooding him. “I didn’t mean to fuck this up.”

“You haven’t,” Steve says sharply. “Don’t say that. You’re perfect. You’re doing so good for us. We just want you to talk a little more.”

_Perfect. So good._

Clint hangs on the words. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but Captain Goddamn America said it, so it has to have _some_ meaning, right?

Unless Captain Goddamn America is just a dirty liar, but considering the way he’s looking at Clint right now...well, he might be _dirty_ , but Clint’s pretty sure he’s telling the truth. Or at least, what he believes to be the truth.

Clint swallows hard. “I want your fingers,” he says after a moment, pushing the words past his mental block. “Or _something_. I want something in me.”

Steve smiles. “There you go,” he says. “How about we start with fingers? I get you nice and open for my cock, and then absolutely _wreck_ you until I’m the only thing on your mind. How’s that sound?”

Sounds great. Sounds fucking perfect. Sounds like everything he’s ever wanted in his entire life, and Clint is still having trouble believing that Steve Rogers just said that to him. Steve Rogers, who just yesterday was posing for pictures with elementary school children, is now describing in detail how he’s going to fuck Clint senseless, and _seriously_ , how did his life get to this point?

Bucky pokes his nose. “You’re thinking again.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says, watching Steve ditch his own shirt and pants before pouring lube on his fingers. “I just—you know—he’s such a poster boy—”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’m a what now?”

Bucky cracks up, throwing his head back as he laughs, chest heaving for air. “Fucking hell,” he finally says, letting go of Clint’s wrist to wipe at his eyes. “Hear that, Stevie? Your reputation of goodness and light precedes you.”

“If only they knew,” Steve says, a filthy grin on his face as he reaches for Clint. “They’d all be so shocked.”

Clint starts to say something, but then Steve’s finger gently presses into him, and he lets out a long, low moan. Bucky’s eyes light up at the sound. “That’s it,” he says. “I like that.”

Clint looks up at Bucky, trying to hold still as Steve slides a second finger in. “I can—do you want—” He makes to turn over. “I can blow you—”

“No,” Bucky says, holding him in place. “I’m okay.”

“But you should have something too—”

“Darlin’, if you think I’m not gonna get off to Steve fucking your tight ass, you’re very, very wrong.” He grins down at Clint.

“He wants to sit there and be lazy,” Steve says, crooking his fingers a little. Clint arches up off the bed, and he laughs. “Got it.”

“I want to watch the show,” Bucky corrects, mock-glaring “I want to sit right here and watch Mr. Poster Boy fuck you so hard that you forget your own goddamn name. I want to watch while he takes you to pieces, and I want to hear every single noise you make while he does. I want you to be _ruined_ by the end of it.”

Clint shudders at the words, anticipation and arousal swimming in his veins. “I want that too,” he manages to choke out after a moment. “Please. Please do that.”

“I’d be happy to,” Steve says, voice low. “You’re so pretty when you’re begging for it, you know that?”

“Please,” Clint says again, and Steve’s eyes light up. He slips a third finger in and wraps his other hand around Clint’s dick, slowly stroking it.

“Should make him beg to come,” he says to Bucky, watching every single little movement Clint makes. “You think?”

Bucky looks intrigued, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “We’re already asking a lot,” he says. “So maybe not this time. Don’t need to make this any harder.”

“Already hard,” Clint says, which is both a joke and the truth. Bucky laughs again, and Steve chuckles as he rolls a condom onto himself with one hand.

“Funny,” he says. “Real comedian, this one.” He pulls his fingers out of Clint, watching as he clenches around the sudden emptiness. “Fuck, that’s hot. You ready?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Clint says, the _I want_ slipping out of him easily.

A delighted look crosses Bucky’s face. “Good boy,” he praises, and Clint gasps at both the words and the way Steve’s cock slowly slides into him. “I love hearing you ask for what you want.”

Clint nods frantically, lifting his hips to meet Steve. It feels _incredible_ , the way his cock fills Clint up, and he can’t hold back a moan as Steve settles all the way into him. “God, that’s good,” he manages, twisting his hands to grab at Bucky’s arms. “Bucky—”

“What, babe?”

“Hold me,” he says. “My wrists—please—”

Bucky’s hands press firmly against his wrists, pinning them down, and that’s it. He’s between two super-soldiers, deliciously and wonderfully trapped.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his _life_.

He moves his legs, hooking them around Steve and pulling him even closer. Steve looks startled for a moment, then grins down at him. “Something you want, doll?”

“Fuck me,” Clint demands. “Like you said.”

“We made a monster,” Steve says to Bucky, not moving an inch. “Look at him, demanding things.”

“I’m so proud,” Bucky agrees, and squeezes Clint’s wrists.

Clint tugs Steve closer. “Come on,” he says, although it sounds more like a whine, and Steve slowly slides out before snapping his hips forward. The sound that Clint makes at that is indescribable, embarrassing as hell, and completely involuntary.

“Jesus,” he finally manages. “Again. Do that again.”

“Again, huh?” Steve chuckles. “I suppose.”

He does it again. And again. And again. Over and over until, exactly like he’d promised, Clint is an absolute _wreck_ underneath him. Clint’s not sure when he starts crying again exactly, but it happens, tears collecting in his eyes, blurring his vision and sliding down his cheeks.

Steve slows. “Am I—”

“He likes it,” Bucky says firmly. “Trust me.”

Clint doesn’t really know what words are anymore, but he knows Bucky’s right, so he just nods frantically and rocks his hips up. Steve still looks a little concerned, but he doesn’t stop. He eases up a bit, though, moving from fucking the breath out of Clint to something a little slower. A little deeper, a little more intimate. Clint relaxes into it, letting a soft moan slip out as Steve grinds into him just right, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. He can almost taste the edge of his orgasm, can feel it building in his very bones.

He tugs a little against Bucky’s grip just to feel the way his fingers tighten at the motion. “I got you,” Bucky says, eyes fixed on where Steve’s cock is fucking into Clint. He looks absolutely enthralled, like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. “I got you.”

“Me too,” Steve adds, breathless and panting. “We both do.”

Clint shudders underneath him. “I know,” he manages. “I know.”

“You look so good,” Bucky murmurs, his fingers tightening again. Clint wonders if he’ll have marks there tomorrow, something to remind him this happened. He hopes so. He needs it. He needs a ring of bruises around his pale skin, needs to be marked, to show everybody that for a moment, he was _wanted_ —

“I’m gonna come,” he says, shuddering again, feeling himself near the edge of it. “I’m—I can, right?”

“Yeah, babe,” Steve says, sounding wrecked himself. “ _Fuck_ , yes. I want you to. I want you to come on my dick, feels so fucking good—”

Clint’s muscles tense, his breath catching as his vision blanks out, pleasure washing through him. He moans, rocks into Steve’s gentle motions, pulls hard against Bucky’s grip.

“Open your eyes,” Bucky orders, and Clint looks up at him. “God, you’re pretty like this. So fucking beautiful. Look at him, Stevie.”

“I see it,” Steve says, his voice strained. “I see it, fuck, I’m gonna—”

He pushes in one last time, his own eyes closing. His head drops down to Clint’s chest, and Clint makes a soft noise, pulling at Bucky’s grip until he lets go. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, damp with sweat, and murmurs something that might not even be words at all.

“Beautiful,” Bucky says again, reaching out. His right hand slips into Steve’s hair next to Clint’s, and he tugs gently. “Fucking perfect, both of you. Don’t crush him.”

“‘m not,” Steve mumbles, but he pushes himself up a little bit, taking his weight on trembling arms. “You okay?”

“Good,” Clint says. “I’m good.”

“Yeah you are,” Steve says, leaning down to kiss him. “You were _so_ good.”

“So good,” Bucky agrees. “I loved watching that.”

Clint’s eyes slip closed at the words. He lets himself float, dimly registering Steve pulling out and moving around the room. Bucky’s hands wrap around his wrists, then tangle into his fingers. “He’s gonna get you cleaned up,” he murmurs.

Clint nods. “Do you want—” he starts, still feeling the hard press of Bucky’s cock underneath him. “I can—”

“I want you to let Steve take care of you,” Bucky says. “That’s what I want.”

“But you’re still—”

“Babe,” Bucky says, kissing his hand again. “Sex isn’t transactional. You don’t owe me anything. I got exactly what I wanted. So just relax and let yourself have something nice, okay?”

“Okay,” Clint says, and settles into the bed.

Steve comes back with a washcloth and gently swipes it along Clint, cleaning up the come and lube and sweat. “How you feeling?” he murmurs, tossing it over his shoulder into the bathroom before following it up with a dry one.

He feels good. Well-fucked. Happy. Clint lets a lazy smile flit over his face, and Steve seems to take that as an acceptable answer. He kisses Clint’s forehead, Bucky’s mouth, then flops onto his back next to them. “I’m dead,” he announces to the room in general. “Gonna sleep for a year.”

“Mmhmm,” Clint says in agreement, and Bucky chuckles.

“Lazy bastards,” he says, reaching out to tug at Steve’s hair.

“Says the guy who didn’t do anything but watch.” Steve cracks open an eye and looks at him, then hooks an arm around Clint. With barely any effort, he rolls Clint off Bucky and over himself, settling him on the opposite side. “He’s mine now.”

“What the fuck just happened,” Clint says, a little dizzy with the sudden change in position.

“You’re mine now,” Steve says, pulling him into his chest. “You and I are gonna take a nap. Actual lazy bastard can stay if he wants.”

Bucky snorts. “Rude.”

There’s a shuffling of clothes, and then Bucky appears on the other side of the bed. He slides in in front of Clint, tangling their legs together and pulling Clint a little closer.

“Mine,” Steve argues.

“Tough,” Bucky says, tightening his grip. Clint grins as Steve makes a little noise of protest, then scoots himself right up against his back.

“No need to fight,” he says sleepily. “Not going anywhere.”

Not yet, anyway. This happened, it’s real, and he’s gonna hold onto it as long as he can before it slips through his fingers.

Steve’s hand gently rubs over his shoulder. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the back of Clint’s head. “Glad to hear it.”

“Me too,” Bucky adds, rubbing his fingers in soothing circles along Clint’s spine. “Go to sleep, doll. We got you.”

“Kay,” Clint mumbles, and he does just that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Beta'ed as always by the lovely [clintscoffeepot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintscoffeepot/pseuds/clintscoffeepot). Thank you!


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